


A Boardgame of Thrones

by dezolis



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezolis/pseuds/dezolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And lo, the gods did not wish for Westeros to be torn further asunder by the vagaries of war.  Thus they decreed that the War of Five Kings (and One Queen) would be settled by the brutal bloodsport known as Monopoly.  Written for the asoiaf kinkmeme and based on the prompt:  In which the Game of Thrones is a board game, along the same lines of LIFE and the characters are playing it to determine who wins the throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Boardgame of Thrones

First they had to pick the pieces.

“I’ll take the hat,” Renly Baratheon declared before anyone else could get a word in. “It looks rather jaunty.” No one challenged him which he took as a sign of his commanding presence. In actuality, it was a sign that nobody wanted the hat but him.

“The boat,” Balon Greyjoy declared next. “Such a strong looking vessel is worthy only of the Iron Fleet.”

This time there was an objection. Joffrey “Baratheon” affected a haughty whine. “No, it should be part of the royal fleet - my fleet. The boat is mine.”

“Care to fight me for it, boy?”

When Daenerys Targaryen had entered the room with three baby dragons arrayed around her shoulders and Robb Stark had followed after her with a toddler direwolf that was the size of a pony, the other players of this game had decided on a firm “no pets” rule. Thus, Joff was not allowed his favorite pet, The Hound. Thus, Joff really didn’t wish to fight Balon.

“You are not worthy of my steel,” Joff said to snickers from Renly. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It will be mine once you’ve lost.”

Stannis huffed at that hollow boast. He would not otherwise participate in this petty bickering over small pieces of metal. The Iron Throne was his by rights and the sigil he used to claim it was irrelevant. Even that womanly thimble Renly was not-so-subtlety shoving his way would do.

“What?” Renly asked when the grinding of Stannis’ teeth began to threaten to drown out the conversation over pieces. “You natter on about the rules like an old woman. I thought you would like the implements of your kind.”

He’d had this conversation with his brother already. “The game came with an instructions. If we were not meant to follow them, would the book be here?”

“And there’s a rule in the book that requires you to be a humorless prig?”

“Ahem,” Robb coughed diplomatically. “The fate of the kingdom lies in this game. We should settle this matter as quickly and calmly as we can.”

Dany was inclined to agree with him, son of a Usurper’s dog though he was. This game would decided who would sit the Iron Throne. A proper ruler would save their fighting spirit for the playing of the game instead of silly familial spats.

“I get to pick the next piece,” Joff said. “I should have picked first but I’m not surprised you traitors would usurp my rights.”

“Oh, you’re using that word?” Dany muttered under her breath. While Joff ranted further, she grabbed the horse with the man on its back. “He reminds me of my sun and stars and how proudly he rode his own horse,” she explained to the others over Joff’s infuriated squeaking. 

“So this sun and stars, he is your friend? Or husband?” Robb asked, silently cursing himself for how awkward he sounded. He blamed the hair. And the eyes. And the supple, tanned skin. And other parts he would not name because he was distracted enough as it was.

“My husband. But Khal Drogo has already ridden into the night lands.”

_So you don’t have a man_. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Robb said aloud.

The other gentlemen in the room offered their condolences as well. Balon scooted his ship along the table to daydreams of a literal iron fleet while Joff resumed whining about turns and rights.

Robb reached out for the small dog. “It’s got fur like a wolf at least.”’

Joff was apoplectic. “I just said… Do you people not listen to me? Do you not respect my authority?”

Alas, the word “duh” had not yet been coined in Westeros so the other players merely stared at Joff in silence with expressions that would be best described as “bitch, are you for real?” when that phrase came into being.

“I’ll take the boot,” Stannis, not waiting for another hissy fit to start, said. “It’s sturdy, reliable, necessary.”

“It’s an ugly old shoe,” Renly countered. “Worn out, solitary and discarded.”

More teeth grinding signified Stannis’ disagreement with that interpretation.

“Now I shall choose,” Joff said, smugly oblivious to the fact that he was the only person who hadn’t. He picked up a piece that looked like a slender flask with wheels on the sides. “What’s this?” he demanded to know.

Stannis consulted the rulebook, unfolding its pages with deliberation in Renly‘s general direction. “It’s called a cannon. Apparently, it’s some sort of weapon.”

“Yes! A weapon with which to destroy my foes! It’s perfect!”

“You don’t even know how to use it,” Renly said. “Then again, you don’t know how to use a sword either.”

By some miracle, it sank into Joff’s head that verbal sparring with Renly would be as productive as physical sparring so he simply picked up his cannon and began imagining the different kinds of heinous violence it was capable of.

With all players duly in possession of their pieces, they had to decide who would go first. Stannis naturally went to the rulebook for suggestions. “It says one way is to go according to age with the youngest player taking the first turn.”

“That’s me!” Joff shouted. “I go first.”

“Yes, you are the biggest baby,” Renly conceded.

Despite it allowing Joff to have his way, the other players consented to using the age order. Joff would go, followed by Dany, then Robb, Renly, Stannis and finally Balon. The Ironman groused about being last but as he groused about everything, no one cared.

Joff took the dice and gave them a toss. The game had begun.

***

The dice read five and six for Joff. He moved his cannon the matching number of spaces. “Horn Hill,” he read off the board. “It’s mine!”

“You can’t just take it,” Robb said. “You have to earn it first.”

Stannis waved the ever-important rulebook. “You must pay the amount listed in the space if you wish to own it.”

“Four gold dragons? You only gave me fifteen to start with! A hovel like Horn Hill is hardly worth a single stag!”

“You tell Randyll Tarly that,” Renly suggested.

He grumbled, but nonetheless, Joff handed over the four dragons and Stannis gave him the title to Horn Hill. Joff stuck the card in Robb’s face. “It’s mine, just as I said. And if you land on it, you have to pay me a tithe.”

Sensing Joff’s bragging could go on indefinitely, Dany went ahead and rolled the dice. One and one. The horse moved to Community Chest and she took a card of the same name from the pile in the center of the board. “The Bank of Braavos has erred in your favor. Collect fifty silver stags.”

“That’s not fair!” Joff whined. “She didn’t do anything!”

Stannis disagreed and handed Dany her chit worth fifty stags. To rub salt in Joff’s wound he also pointed out another rule. “Whenever the dice show matching numbers, you may go again.”

Dany happily took the dice again and, after a shake in Joff’s direction, rolled a total of seven. Her horse arrived at Sunspear. Four dragons bought it as well, a better deal than what Joff got, she thought, as Stannis handed her the title.

Robb’s dog traveled to a space with a wheelhouse on it, one of four. His said River Road, while the others were Roseroad, Gold Road and Kingsroad. They were all priced the same though the Kingsroad was much longer than any of them, but Robb paid his dragons regardless. Control of the roads was important in war.

Renly got a twelve and the Blacksmiths (which Stannis insisted was something called a Utility) and on his free turn took the Roseroad.

The shoe arrived at the Wall, but Stannis was only visting.

Balon, appropriately, sailed three spaces to the Pyke, which he utterly refused to pay for because he already owned it and a true Ironman did not pay anything but the iron price anyway.

“I don’t think you understand this game,” Stannis began to warn him but he received four kicks under the table to tell him to shut up. If Balon wanted to whine his way into losing without accomplishing a single thing, the others were happy to let him. Stannis relented. He wouldn’t mind being rid of the pretender either.

Round One was over quickly. Unfortunately, the participants were to learn that Monopoly was no simple game, but a long, brutal slog of endurance and ever-shifting luck. A bit like a real war then, without any of the destruction and bloodshed but near the same amount of cursing.

***

Balon was the first to go. He tried to acquire property without giving any money to the Bank but no one accepted his demands for single combat. Soon his ship had trouble finding a safe harbor. His attempts to steal his competitors’ money met with similar success. That dragon girl had some serious claws for fingernails and wasn’t afraid to use them on hands discovered wandering over towards her money pile. Joff was an easier target but after Stannis caught Balon with an illicit dragon, there was a great deal of talk about the chopping off of fingertips and that supply line dried up.

He left the table with a vow of vengeance. A chorus of sarcastic “uh-huh”s and “sure”s bade him farewell.

One king down, four and one queen to go.

Joff’s turn was next and he landed on Chance. He threw the card he drew down in disgust. “I’ve been sent to the Wall! I can’t even pass Go and get my two dragons! This stupid game would put me in with dregs of Westeros?!”

“It’s an honor to serve at the Wall,” Robb said. “Both my uncle and brother took the black.”

“You Northerners certainly are backwoods fools.”

“They’re serving the realm and keeping it safe. That’s for more than could ever be said for you.”

Joff gave a doubtful “hmmph” and asked when he could leave.

“The Watch serves for life,” Robb said and Joff paled at the thought.

“Actually,” Stannis and his rulebook explained, “He can leave if he rolls matching numbers, pays to get out – shameful – or if he has a card that allows him to leave for free or he buys such a card from another player – truly dishonorable. Three turns is the longest the Wall can keep him.”

“More like stand to keep him,” Renly added. Joff “hmmph”ed again and eyed Dany’s “Released from Vows for Free card”. She flexed the fingers that had vexed Balon so.

“I’ll roll matching numbers my next turn anyway,” he snitted. He didn’t. His three turns came and went with the cannon entrenched at the Wall. Finally out, he went to the Free Cities space, only to be sent back to the Wall on his next turn.

“I hate this game,” he declared. He hated it more as the Wall kept calling to him, in either card form or the Go to the Wall space over and over again until the bribes he paid to be free finally bankrupted him.

He took his leave with less grace than Balon, calling for his dog or Ser Ilyn and lastly, his mother to come avenge him. He was missed slightly less than Balon because, as Renly put it, at least he’d been an entertaining little shit instead of a boring old shit.

The game had three players yet to claim.

***

Joff’s properties went back to the bank. Robb eyed the Winterfell card, not just for sentimental reasons but because he already had White Harbor and the Dreadfort and would like to start building towns on them, eventually turning them into a castle. His dog was on Storm’s End though, five spaces past it. He’d need a few more turns to get around the board.

But it was Dany’s turn now and with a six she went from The Twins to Robb’s home. Robb sighed as she handed over the dragons needed to purchase it. His dice roll was a ten and it put him on the newly vacant King’s Landing. His fellow players eyed him enviously, giving Robb an idea.

“I’ll trade you,” he said to Dany. “King’s Landing for Winterfell.”

“You can’t do that!” Renly said as Stannis dove into his rulebook.

“Why not?” Dany asked. She had Winterfell in hand and was ready to swap.

“Because she already has Dragonstone,” Renly said to Robb. “Do you know how outrageous the tithes are on Crownland properties with a castle on it?”

“But I’ll have the North. And what are you complaining about? You already have the Stormlands, the Westerlands, both the blacksmith and whore utilities and if you get Horn Hill, the Reach.” 

“It’s not that we can’t do it,” Dany concluded. “It’s that he doesn’t want us to do it.” A pity. She had been enjoying the youngest stag’s affability and easy quips. She was disappointed to see him be as greedy as his usurper brother.

“Unfortunately,” Stannis said, setting the rulebook down solemnly, “they can trade whatever they like.” He did not care for this turn of events. He ruled not a single region, save the useless Iron Islands. A castle on each and their tithes were still paltry. Melisandre had warned him that her fires had shown her an arduous campaign was ahead. She’d promised him victory nonetheless, vowed that he would have it, though he did not see how his campaign could end in anything but failure, not with his brother controlling so much of the board. And Horn Hill was within Renly’s reach. He needed only to roll a three and that control would expand.

Renly picked up the dice with a scowl after King’s Landing and Winterfell had been traded. With each shake of his hand, the breeze from the window seemed to get stronger. It was near a full wind when he released the dice. Three…and six. That put him on Community Chest.

There appeared to by only one card remaining in the pile. Appeared, that is, until a particularly sharp wind blew through the room, causing the lanterns lighting the room to flicker or gutter. Renly felt a chill run through him and then the wind was gone, the lanterns glowed brightly and there were clearly _two_ cards in Community Chest. Renly picked up the one on top.

He flipped it over slowly and for a moment, he swore the stocky, cheerful, mustached man who was normally depicted on the cards had been replaced by a drawing of Stannis holding two dark, shadowy shapes. Renly blinked and the card returned to normal. It was the same cheerful man holding two babes, not Stannis and shadows. But the text…

“Pay the maesters fifty dragons!” Renly shouted. “Fifty dragons! That can’t be right! I don’t have fifty dragons! No one does!”

Robb and Dany stared at the card warily. That was a strange and crippling amount for a card to demand. But it there it was, printed clearly and precisely just like every other card in Community Chest.

The rulebook crumpled in Stannis’s grip. Over his brother’s shouting, he said in even tones, “The card says fifty dragons. You must pay the price.”

Renly couldn’t. He sold off castles, took liens against his properties from the bank and asked for loans, but he couldn’t.

The board had claimed its third king.

***

Renly’s departure was not the boon Stannis had hoped it would be. The properties that had reverted to the bank soon were dispersed to his opponents while the boot kept visiting the Wall and the few lands Stannis already owned. He cursed his ill luck then cursed it again when the dice took him to King’s Landing. Dany helpfully read off the tithe with castle that was due from her title card. It consumed nearly all of the funds Stannis had left.

“I’ll trade this tithe and the next for Yronwood,” she offered.

“Then you’ll have Dorne. I’d be a fool to let you start building there.”

“Truly? I am but a young girl and no little of Monopoly.”

“I think you’re doing fine,” Robb said while Stannis rolled his eyes. The Targaryen may have played the innocent maiden but she was conquering space after space with the brutal efficiency of her ancestors.

Stannis paid his dues as was proper, his molars sounding out his indignation. This only grew when her next roll took her to the unclaimed Harrenhal. She had the dragons in hand to purchase it but Robb intervened again. “I’ll trade you Storm’s End for it.”

The young girl who supposedly knew nothing of Monopoly was now the one pointing out how that would give another complete control of a kingdom.

“The Riverlands are my mother’s homeland,” Robb explained. “That’s why I want it.”

“A sweet sentiment but aren’t you more interested in controlling an entire corner of the board?” Dany asked him. Stannis had to agree. The dice rolls around the Free Cities would become dangerous indeed if Stark were to succeed.

But Robb was adamant. “Look, I don’t even want to win this game. I have no interest in the Iron Throne. I just want the North to be free. I just want justice for the crimes the Lannisters have committed.”

“I’ve no love of lions either,” Dany said. “Bringing the Kingslayer and his treacherous father to justice is a mutual goal.”

Stannis wasn’t going to be left out. “Do you think I have any love for them? They use my family name to place their abominations born of incest – “

“Excuse me!?”

“-place their bastards on my throne,” Stannis finished, though that ending wasn’t endearing Dany to him either. Dragon and stag glared at each other, Monopoly forgotten to engage in the timeworn tradition of the staring contest.

The wolf had another idea. Actually, it was the same idea his mother had when she convinced him to treat with Renly, only adapted slightly to reflect their current battlegrounds. “So, if I promise to help one of you – trade strategic properties, waive tithes, that sort of thing - you’ll grant the North independence?”

“Agreed,” was the unison response, followed by, “I said it first.”

It appeared a round two of a staring battle was in the offing. Being that that was about the only thing more tedious than the actual playing of Monopoly, Robb was eager to get an alliance settled and the game won. “What can each of you offer me?” he asked.

Stannis had the credentials of a war commander and practiced leadership. Dany had a way of leaning back in her chair and giving Robb a look that said ‘You may not be a man like my Drogo but give me some time and I can make you one.’ She could work some pouty lips too, but they were hardly needed. At the end of the day, Robb Stark was a young boy who knew exactly crap about women save for the fact that he really, really, really liked them.

And so an alliance was forged, a game was won and Stannis once again had reason to curse the bane of his life as Robert Baratheon’s little brother: horniness. It had ruined his marriage bed and now stolen his crown while adding a nauseating salt of batted eyes and cloying laughs to his wounds. His opponents cared not. They were reveling in it and completely ignoring his requests to give him their titles and chits so he could sort them back into their rightful slots and put away the board. Such a powerful force and it always left him confounded.

Melisandre had failed him. Maybe Davos could help him sort it out….


End file.
